


make me wanna hold on (make me wanna be all yours)

by Pinkmanite



Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - Not Hockey Player(s), Alternate Universe - Sugar Daddy, Barebacking, D/s elements, Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, Dirty Talk, Hair-pulling, Humiliation, Light Bondage, M/M, Mildly Dubious Consent, Mirror Sex Kink (?), Self-Worth Issues, Slut Shaming, light choking kink
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-26
Updated: 2018-04-26
Packaged: 2019-04-28 02:30:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,404
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14439564
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pinkmanite/pseuds/Pinkmanite
Summary: It’s like Will instantly melts into a well-worn mold, one he’s been in many times before. The switch is flipped and he’s standing up straighter, painting on that pretty smile, the one Nicky loves so much, pentimento on the overworn canvas of his cheeks. He angles his chin so he can look up at Nicky through his lashes, batting them in the way that he knows gets Nicky all worked up.





	make me wanna hold on (make me wanna be all yours)

**Author's Note:**

> Hi funfact about this fic is that I was high and I dreamt I wrote it and then I woke up the next day, opened my gdrive for something else, and lo and behold there was the doc; aka I actually wrote it and didn’t just dream it. Anyway, that should explain why it has the vibe it does lol so if it wasn’t clear, this is complete and utter idfic and I’m definitely NOT proud of the characterizations. But like I wrote it high and am impressed with myself for that alone so here it is! 
> 
> Also, so much love to Romy, Priya, and Viv for looking this over and for putting up with all my Willy Ny shipping bullshit <3
> 
>  
> 
> ~
> 
> Explanation on the mildly dubcon tag: The situation is consensual, but it's not really enthusiastic, nor of sound mind. This fic can be perceived as a little heavy so if you have any serious triggers, this might not be the fic for you.

Will feels overwhelmingly underdressed.

Nicky had assured him this place was casual, even when Will had pressed him to make sure, because he knows how Nicky is, knows Nicky does this all the time. Which is really why Will shouldn’t have believed him, should’ve bitten the bullet and ran back to his dorm to change, fuck all if it kept Nicky waiting.

It’s just that much more clear, what he is to Nicky, when he arrives at a Michelin star restaurant looking just as much the student-who-came-straight-from-class that he is. He even has his backpack, the fucking cherry on top.

Will just thinks it’s kind of fucked up, the way everyone thinks they have any right to judge him, looking down their noses at him like he’s nothing, like he’s tainted. Like he’s something gross and disgusting; like they’ll catch disease if they speak to him, let alone treat him like a person.

It’s fucked up and it’s not fair but that’s how it is, that’s the world for you. Will accepts it as it is, he really truly does, but he can’t help but be totally and completely _exhausted_. Not that Nicky needs to know that, though.

But Nicky isn’t dumb, he’s got to know that at the very least, Will doesn’t really like it, isn’t entirely comfortable with it. Not the _them_ part, never ever that, but the part where Nicky shows Will off as he is, for what he is. It’s that part where everyone knows exactly what their situation is, Will’s dirty laundry aired out in the busiest corners of the city.

“There you are, Willy.” And that’s Nicky, snapping Will out of his thoughts. He gets out of his seat to greet him, pulls him into a hug and kisses each cheek, European as ever, always chiding Will to remember his roots.

“You told me casual,” Will whispers accusatory and self-conscious, forgoing the pleasantries.

Nicky rolls his eyes, already taking Will’s backpack and pulling at his coat to hand over to the host. “Coat room, please.”

Will still allows him to pull out his chair and the like, used to this routine. “I stick out, Nicky, people are staring.”

“So?” Nicky shrugs, “Let them stare. It’s not a bad view.” He pauses, takes a sip of his sparkling water. “Besides, you know I don’t like waiting. You would’ve taken forever. At least another half hour on the hair,” Nicky laughs.

That’s… not necessarily untrue. Will’s a little mad at how well Nicky knows him now, knows him well enough to maneuver his habits.

“Yeah, alright,” Will huffs, light. It makes Nicky laugh again, bright and natural, so if Will can’t help but to smile along a little? Well. You can’t blame him.

“How was class?” Nicky prompts.

“It was a lecture,” Will shrugs, breaking into the bread basket, “it was boring. I watched highlights.”

Nicky tsks, stealing the bread back for himself, ignoring Will’s little _hey_ in protest. “You should pay attention more.”

Will rolls his eyes, “okay, dad.”

“Dad? Kinky,” Nicky smirks, laughing when Will nearly chokes on his bread roll.

“ _Nicky._ ”

“Yeah?”

“We’re in public. Please.” Will is near red, the color rising to his cheekbones. Despite it, Nicky reaches across the table and strokes a hand over Will’s cheek, once, twice. Will leans into into until he doesn’t, tilting his head away as if to read the menu. As if he didn’t know that Nicky already ordered for him before he arrived. As if he had something better to do than entertain Nicky.

Not that Nicky particularly minds. He never does, always amused by Will’s shyness, his embarrassment. It’s almost like a game, one where the winning prize is Will, uninhibited, his guard peeled back until there’s nothing holding him back.

It’s a curiosity of sorts that never fades, and maybe that’s what keeps drawing Nicky to this boy again and again, without fail.

Their food arrives then, refreshing the air and neutralizing the conversation. Will asks about Nicky’s work, about the meeting he had this morning and the meeting he has tonight. Nicky asks after Will’s campus life, about roommate politics and shoddy TA’s. They talk about pop culture, about hockey, about home. About pop culture and hockey back home. Nicky mentions that he might have some box tickets with work coming up, expects Will to be there. Expects Will to decorate his arm.

But that’s something for Will to deal with another day. For now, he spoons at his dessert while Nicky signals for the bill and their coats.

“Oh,” Will says, a little hesitant. “My, uh, next tuition payment is due next Friday, if that’s, uh, if that’s okay?” It’s still awkward for Will, no matter how many times he’s done this, no matter how many times Nicky reassures him that it’s okay, that he expects it, even.

Unphased, Nicky continues signing the bill and doesn’t even look up. “Yeah, of course. Bring it when you come over tonight.” And that’s that.

Nicky calls Will an UberX back to campus and, after looking around to make sure that no one is watching, Will kisses his cheek sweet in goodbye.

 

~

 

The thing is, Will genuinely does like Nicky. He likes whatever it is they have, likes _them_ . Likes doing things with him and keeping him company. Likes making him laugh and likes when he can get him to relax. Nicky’s a _good guy_ and Will knows it, Will is drawn to him _because_ of it.

What Will doesn’t like, what Will won’t face, is the truth of what this is, what _he_ is. The reality of it. He doesn’t understand how Nicky accepts it fully and completely for what it is, without shame. How he maybe even revels in it, enjoys it, finds something good in it.

“I like it because I like you, and it’s what we are. How could I ever dislike anything that’s about us?” Nicky once murmured into the pillows, once tried to explain to him.

With nothing to say, Will had half heartedly pretended to be asleep. If Nicky noticed, he didn’t press it any further.

 

~

 

Will keeps his head held high when he tells the new doorman that he’s here to see Mr. Backstrom, does his best not to react when the doorman glances at the clock and gives him a once over, judging. Gives him that Look. The same one that everyone gives him. The same one that he never wants to see again, but knows he’ll see often enough for an unforeseeable future.

“You can tell him it’s William, he’s expecting me.”

The doorman doesn’t reply, just keeps giving him that Look from the bridge of his nose and haughtily dials up to Nicky’s. He turns away when he speaks into the phone, hushed in a way that makes it just barely inaudible to Will. It’s brief, the doorman hangs up quickly enough and turns back to him. He doesn’t say anything to Will, just eyes him up again and nods towards the door that leads to the elevators, a clear dismissal. He clicks the button under the table to unlock it and it’s signal enough.

Will hikes his bag further up his shoulder, mumbling a half-hearted thanks, and uses his shoulder to push the door open. He clicks the elevator button with his elbow, hands preoccupied with anxious thumbing across his phone. He doesn’t even know what he’s looking at really, pictures swirling together in indeterminate shapes, captions read but unprocessed. He double taps without looking, without thinking. It’s empty. Dutiful.

There’s mirrored walls adorning all four sides of the elevator. Will keeps focusing (or not focusing) on his phone, daring not to look up. He hates this part, hates the part where he has to look at himself. Look himself in the eye and question himself, question his decisions, question the life he’s leading. If he looks up, he’ll see a boy in a cheap suit that doesn’t fit him quite right, rumpled in the worst places but flattering where it matters most. If he looks up, he’ll see the exhaustion and the desperation and the ---

There’s a ding. The elevator doors slide open and Will doesn’t hesitate, automatically steps out and goes to push open the door to the penthouse, left unlocked for him as always. He goes through the motions, instinct by now.

Will feels so caught up in his head, clouded in low, cottony anxiety, familiar at in his skull, just above the nape of his neck. Yet, he isn’t really thinking about anything in particular, the nerves a constant thrum instead of something substantial, something he can grasp onto and focus on. Spaced out, perhaps, is a more proper way to look at it, but it’s not quite that, either. It’s ---

“Willy.”

And just like that, he’s back, head snapping up at his name. Nicky’s looking at him with a little half-smile. He’s relaxed, comfortably sprawled out over the sectional. “You’re late, babe.”

It’s like he instantly melts into a well-worn mold, one he’s been in many times before. The switch is flipped and he’s standing up straighter, painting on that pretty smile, the one Nicky loves so much, pentimento on the overworn canvas of his cheeks. He angles his chin so he can look up at Nicky through his lashes, batting them in the way that gets Nicky all worked up.

“Sorry, Nicky.” Will wrings his hands behind his back.

“Come here, please,” Nicky beckons for him, neutral.

Will almost sighs outright but manages to hold it in. He drops his bag and carefully toes off his shoes, quickly rearranging them until they’re neatly tucked away next to the front door. He tries to keep his chin up when he goes to Nicky.

Nicklas hasn’t stopped ogling him. He sizes him up, from bottom to top, until he meets his eyes. He’s intense in every way, every form. Will can’t look away, knows not to look away. He tries to give just as much back, even though he knows it doesn’t even measure up to half of Nicky.

They break only when Will is close enough to carefully knee his way onto the sectional, one knee adjacent to Nicky’s, the other still planted on the carpet, carefully wedged between Nicky’s sprawled knees.

Will shrugs off his jacket, carefully throwing it to the other end of the sectional. Then he nimbly unbuttons his shirt, working from the top down, revealing just a bit of his chest, abdomen, inch by inch. Nicky has yet to move, has only touched him with his gaze, thus far.

Eventually he shrugs the shirt off, too, sending it in the way of his jacket. He takes one deep breath, just one to steady himself while Nicky’s eyes trace the juts and stretch of his newly unveiled skin. He moves to place his hands on Nicky’s shoulders, but Nicky grabs his wrists and hold them, inspecting.

He turns one over, then the other, tracing the blued veins with his thumb. Will hold his breath, watches him carefully, curiously. Nicky flips them one at a time, looks them over, runs his fingers over the ridges and joints there. Rubs a firm yet gentle thumb over the tendons, tired and worked.

Then, without warning, he grabs them tightly, one in each hand. Bony wrists gripped by equally bony fingers. Nicky yanks them back, behind Will’s back. He holds both in one hand while he uses the other to search between the plush couch cushions. Will’s breath catches in his throat when Nicky finally pulls out the strip of leather, holds it up for Will to see. He wraps it around Will’s wrists with careful, practiced hands, securing them behind his back.

Will exhales when Nicky moves his hands away. He tugs at them twice, hard, turned so Nicky can see. He nods. Will swallows.

“Good boy,” Nicky says in a breath. Will shivers, eyes going shut as his skin tingles uncomfortably from the small of his back in a jolt to the back of his neck. Nick’s words echo in his head, a loop, a chorale, of “good boy” over and over and over and over.

He feels Nicky’s thumb press at his throat. Will opens his eyes. The stuff in his head stops.

“How’d you get so pretty, Willy?” Nicky traces over his Adam’s Apple, his pulse point, down to his sternum. His fingers rest on one side of Will’s throat, loosely. Precariously.

“ _Why_ are you so pretty?” Nicky says this time. Will shrugs, lets his head go back, stretching his neck further for Nicky. He shuts his eyes again and plays back his questions. _Why? How? Why? How? WhyHowWhyHowWhy ---_

“Come here, Willy. Come closer.”

Will doesn’t open his eyes but he leans into Nicky’s touch, lets Nicky grab his hips and yank him into his lap, let Nicky grind his erection against his butt, through their clothes.

Nicky kisses him, but Will feels his presence lead before he feels his lips. Nicky kisses him impatiently, possessively fast and unrelenting. Yet, Will feels it happen in slow motion, each move and sensation delayed in half time. He’s forced to feel it, feel every bit of it, but paradoxically muted, like he’s watching from outside himself. He’s lost in it, nonetheless, soft and easy in Nicky’s hands.

He doesn’t mean to moan, he really, really doesn’t, but it happens, escaping from somewhere low in his chest. He doesn’t even realize until the buzz resonates in his own ears, another sound to bounce around his head. He can feel Nicky smirk against his lips, smug with Will’s slip up.

“Easy for it today, huh?” Nicky murmurs, lips brushing against the corner of Will’s mouth, chapping at his cheek.

Will shakes his head, half to deny it and half to pull away from Nicky so he can breathe again. He keeps his eyes shut, not ready to face Nicky, not ready to see his own reflection in Nicky’s eyes.

It doesn’t matter because Nicky grows impatient, grabs his chin and kisses him one more time, hard and possessive. Willy parts his lips when prompted, Nicky’s fingers gripping just that little bit firmer along his jaw.

He lets himself space out a little, focusing on Nicky’s grip to keep him just that little bit grounded. Clearing his head is hard, silencing the echoes is hard. But Will tries his best to get just one tiny moment of reprieve. One moment just to breathe.

There’s a grip in Will’s hair, tugging harsh but just shy of mean. The feeling pulls him back into it, Nicky’s breathing loud in his ears like a whirlwind, tuning in just when Nicky tugs his head back by his hair, exposing his neck so he can nip along the tendons there. So he can nip around Will’s collarbone, nuzzle at his adam’s apple.

“So pretty,” Nicky breathes against his skin, his free hand grazing over a nipple. Will arches further, turning his face away from Nicky as he bites his lip, stifling the pitiful noises caught in his throat.  

Nicky tsks, releasing the grip in Will’s hair and running his fingers through it a few times, tousling it until it’s messy. Until Will looks like he’s already been thoroughly had. Once satisfied, Nicky runs a thumb over Will’s lip, traces the faint indentations where his teeth had pulled at the skin just moments before.

Will hold his gaze, refusing to look away, daring him to say something. This is their game, a game that Will never gives into, not entirely, but a game that Nicky refuses to lose. Refuses not to win.

But for now, Will dares him to make his move.

Nicky breaks first, laughing short and mirthless with a shake of his head. He runs his hands up and down Will’s arms, sliding to gloss over his back, his chest. Will tosses his hair back and out of the way, eyes shut again.

“Come on,” Will says in a breath, almost too quiet to hear. Like maybe if it’s quiet enough it won’t reach his own ears. Maybe if it’s quiet enough he won’t have to listen to himself like this. Even if Will blocks it out, Nicky catches it easily, instantly smug again.

 _It’s all the game, part of the game, playing the game, just the game, the game, the game._ Will’s breath hitches, inhales and exhales in time with the thoughts that swirl together in a cacophony of dissonance.

Nicky picks him up then, shattering the fermata of headnoise when he tosses Will onto the couch like he’s nothing. He’s on him again almost instantly, while Will is still blinking to comprehension. Quick hands pop the button on Will’s slacks, tugging them away with his boxers, down and down until they tug free. Nicky tosses them out of the way, with much less care than Will had given the rest of his garments.

Will shivers, a mix of the too-cold air and the feeling of being overexposed. Of Nicky’s eyes on him, sizing him up, ready to devour him, no matter how many times Nicky’s already seen him like this time and time and time again.

Nicky flicks the tip of his dick, maybe a little mean, but Will holds still and doesn’t react, refuses to give him the satisfaction. Nicky doesn’t seem to mind, though, laughing a little and squeezing Will’s thigh a bit.

He coaxes Will into turning over, hands on his biceps to guide him. Nicky grabs at his wrists, still restrained behind him, to pull him back, pull him closer.

“Babe.” Nicky says, breathless. Awed. No matter how many times they do this, the novelty never fades, not for Nicky. He stretches his hands over the rounding of Will’s ass, entranced.

“Yeah,” Will sighs, not quite surrendering but not quite neutral, either. His head is turned to the side, cheek smushed against the cushion.

Nicky rifles through the cushions again, unintentionally pulls at his arms more, forcing his shoulders back, forcing him to arch his back more, lift his ass more. Eventually, the grip loosens a little, but Will holds the position anyway, especially when he hears the familiar snap of Nicky’s bottle of KY, the one he keeps out here.  

Even expecting it, the cool drizzle of lube unto his skin, down his crease, makes Will flinch. It’s followed by a shiver as the lube continues to drip down his skin. Nicky eventually catches it with two fingers, following the path its left until he finds Will’s hole, circles it with his fingertips, light and teasing.

He pushes a single fingertip in, barely at the first knuckle. But before Will can even really take in the feeling, Nicky twists it and promptly removes it, smacking Will on the ass with a light laugh. Will turns red, embarrassed but put up with Nicky’s teasing. He pushes his ass up higher.

“You want it, huh, babe? You want it like a slut?”

If Willy wasn’t red before, he is now. His ears feel hot, his face burns in embarrassment? Arousal? Shame? There’s too much, the ghost feelings of Nicky’s touches replaying, tingling over his skin, residuals replaying over and over again.

He feels hot and breathless and, and, too much. He feels too much.

“Nicky,” is all he says, instead, almost inaudible.

He hears Nicky inhale sharply, followed by fingers at his hole again. Nicky sighs, resting on hand on Will’s hip, using the other to push two fingers in at once, in and out and in and out. “Yeah,” he sighs.

Will focuses on the stretch, focuses on relaxing his muscles and giving in. The goal of it helps him push the thoughts away, quiet them for now. He focuses on Nicky’s methodical scissoring, focuses on his breathing, focuses on stifling the noises that stir when Nicky hits him in just the right places.

Nicky pulls out eventually, reaching for a tissue from the box on the coffee table to wipe his fingers off. Will hears him shuffle with his pants, hears the sound of the zipper, the click and pop of more lube.

But then Nicky’s lining himself up, one hand spreads Will’s cheeks wide and the other carefully guides himself inside. And all the while, Will feels the sweat bead on his forehead, feels his heart thump harder and faster, while he chases hopelessly after a gasp that inevitability escapes past his lips.

“Good, babe, that’s good,” Nicky hums, one hand stretching out to rub along Will’s spine, straightening him out, grounding him as he pushes deeper and deeper. He settles on holding Will down, pinning him in a single grip on his neck, grinding him further into the cushion.

It’s like that with one gasp, the dam breaks, and Will can’t bite back the little noises any longer. He moans, high and breathy, when Nicky starts to move, firm and steady. It’s not fast, not mean, but Will can take it, and Nicky knows it, knows how far he can go within Will’s limits, knows how hard he can go, and fully utilizes it.

“Fuck, Willy, so fucking hot,” Nicky groans, low and breathy. “If you could see how you look on my cock.”

Will whines, his eyes screwed shut. He imagines what he must look like, speared on Nicky’s dick with his hands tied behind his back, back arched like a common whore. ( _“Isn’t that what you are?”_ says a voice somewhere deep in the back of head.)

Nicky pushes all the way in, snatching up Will’s arms and pulling back and back and back until he’s halfway up off the couch. Nicky snakes his other arm around until he’s bracing Will against his forearm, his hand enclosing around Will’s throat.

With the new angle, Nicky picks up the pace, goes faster and harder and it’s a lot, so much, for Will. He can’t help the string of gasps, in time with Nicky’s thrusts. All Will can focus on is the feeling of being filled, grasping desperately to pinpoint where he connects with Nicky, where they meet and end.

Nicky drops his wrists in favor of grabbing a handful of Will’s hair. He yanks his head back, pulls Will’s head up, gives himself more room to grasp around his throat.

“Open your eyes, babe,” Nicky murmurs, “I want you to see what you look like.”

“No, Nicky, I don’t--”

“Come on babe, look at yourself, you fucking slut.”

Will breathes in sharp through his nose, overwhelmed and too, too warm. He loses himself in the pleasant-pain along his scalp, where Nicky is still pulling at his hair. He hears Nicky ask him again, a little less nicely this time, but it feels like background noise against the thrumming of his heartbeat in his ears.

“Okay,” Will breathes, more to himself than to Nicky. “Okay.”

He opens his eyes, and right in front of him is a floor-to-ceiling window, Nicky’s penthouse overlooking the city. The lights are bright enough to produce a clear reflection, enough for Will to see himself, to see Nicky, to see himself propped up for Nicky.

Nicky’s hands are so big, big around his neck and big where one’s fisted in his hair. They make Will look so small, so vulnerable. So _naive_. It’s a picture, alright, and the noise in his head has a lot to say about it. But it’s quieted, fuzzing together, while Will takes it all in.

His dick twitches.

“See?” Nicky doesn’t miss a beat, already smug and picking up the pace again. “You love being my little slut, Willy, I know you do. You don’t have to lie to yourself.”

And that’s… that’s a lot, and Will can’t do it all anymore, so he closes his eyes again, tugs against Nicky’s grip to try and bury his face back down where he can’t see his reflection anymore. Nicky must pity him, because he lets go of his hair and his throat, pushes him back into the plush of the couch.

Will sighs, more or less contented, and revels in the drag on his rim when Nicky thrusts in and out, his rhythm faltering. It’s enough to distract away from the lingering image of himself in the window, enough for him to blink it away and focus on the now.

Nicky must be close because he grabs Will’s dick, pumping it in a tight grip just a little too dry, a little too rough. He murmurs dirty encouragements in Will’s ear, leaning over him and pressing their skin together while he drives in again and again and again.

Finally, Will feels the pressure in his gut, feels the warmth tingle in pulses from his core, spreading all the way to his fingertips.

“Nicky--!” he tries but chokes off, coming on Nicky’s hand, spilling onto the couch.

“Fuck, Willy.” Nicky keeps going, chasing after his own orgasm. Will collapses completely, lets Nicky hold him up where he wants him. He’s too sensitive but Nicky hasn’t slowed down. All he can feel is the drag of Nicky’s dick inside of him, heavy there. The stretch is too much, it’s too big, it’s too--

“Come on, Willy, I’m gonna fuck you up, babe, I’m gonna--”

Nicky makes a noise that’s low and guttural, shoving all the way into Will until his hips are pressed flush against hot flesh of Will’s ass. He comes, grip hard on Will’s hips, holding him still, holding him in place, just holding him, while he fills Will with his come.

After a moment, Nicky pulls out, marveling when come leaks out from Will’s hole, puffy and a little red.

“Hey, Will,” Nicky coaxes Will to sit up, then stand up. “Let’s get you cleaned up, yeah?”

Nicky doesn’t bother trying to get Will into the bathroom. He dumps him at the edge of his own bed, grabs a washcloth and wipes him up. Will is pretty out of it, he usually is, but he’s coherent enough to crawl under the covers, settling on what’s become his side of the bed.

“Hey, babe,” Nicky whispers, soft and gentle, pushing the hair out of Will’s face. “Are your tuition papers in your bag? I’ll go take care of it now, okay?” He waits, looks for the little nod that Will eventually gives him. “Okay, good. Sleep, alright?”

Will hums something agreeable. Nicky takes that as his cue.

  
  
  
  
  


**Author's Note:**

> title from guys my age by hey violet lol
> 
> twitter: @[pinkmanite](https://twitter.com/pinkmanite)


End file.
